“But what about your superego?”
“Did you just make a psychology joke? In bed? I really think you’re going to ruin me.”
She didn’t know sex could be fun. Not like this.
God, the way he gives each part of her his utmost attention—her smart, thorough professor. He researches the impact of his mouth beneath her ear. Makes a hypothesis and tests it against her neck. Runs that experiment a few more times with his teeth. Presents his findings with a bite of her waist. She’s slick between her legs and trembling with want, but he makes her wait for it.
She used to think her body was a thing not meant for her to enjoy. With every touch, he seems intent on proving her wrong.
When his fingertips trace her thighs, her legs are already parting for him. She exhales in anticipation as he holds his handto her center, already wound so tight that a single stroke could unravel her.
“Ramona,”he says on a rough groan. “You’re really this wet for me?” Hot breath rushes across her neck as he slips his finger inside. “How does that feel?”
She arches her back, wanting to tell him how perfect it is, but she can’t seem to find the words.
He pauses. “Tell me,” he says, as though he won’t continue unless she answers the question. “I want to know exactly what I do to you.”
She digs her nails into his shoulders. “It’s so good. So fucking good. Please don’t stop.” He grins, moving his finger faster, dragging her slickness along her lips. This slight bossiness in him, this control—she might love it.
“When you’re with me,” he says, low and steady, and she can’t understand how he manages this when she’s already toeing the edge of a cliff, “you’re going to come every single time.” He skims her clit, a slight brush that has her gasping before he returns to his gentle, teasing strokes. “Ideally first. Whether I’m fucking you with my hand or my mouth—I don’t care how long it takes.”
“Nick,”she murmurs. “Please. I can’t—”
A dark looks forms on his face. “I think you can,” he says. “We’re not in a rush, and I want to take my time with you. I couldn’t, the last two times.” He lowers himself down her body, and when he speaks again, his mouth is at her hip. “Can I taste you, honey?”
The question and nickname alone almost get her there. She’s dirty-talked plenty, but never like this. Never this brazen, and never like she truly meant it.
“Yes.You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured it.”
“Probably not as many as I have,” he says, a wicked edge to his words. “That night we were texting—this is what I imagined. My face, right here. You made me so crazy, and you’d barely even done anything.”
He dips his head between her legs, holds his nose against her. Inhales. She forgets to be self-conscious, focuses only on this beautiful man making her feel beautiful things. Then he’s kissing her, licking her, these long strokes of his tongue like he’s fucking savoring her.
Something thin and metallic presses against her thigh—his earring. She hopes it leaves a mark, something red and precise she can look at tomorrow and remember exactly how it all felt.
“This is going to be a problem,” he says when he pauses to take a breath, and for a moment she panics. But he’s grinning, mouth wet and face flushed. “I’m going to get addicted to this.”
“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me.”
Another hot slide of his tongue that makes her forget her own name. “What else can I do? What do you want?”
This.This, on repeat, forever. “Your fingers, too.”
He licks her faster while he works a finger inside her, and then another, urging her closer and closer. His free hand gripping her leg while she tangles hers in his hair, hips rocking against his face. Tongue on her clit while a stream of expletives falls from her mouth. A smile—yes, she’s pretty sure that’s a smile—stamped to her inner thigh.
And then he flutters his tongue and crooks his finger just right and—fuck—fuck—
The orgasm bursts behind her eyelids, light and color andheatas a cry tears from her lungs. She clutches his hair, the duvet, her own throat. Curses under her breath, shutting her eyes until the room stops spinning.
Breathless, she pulls him up to her, kissing him hard and tasting herself on his lips.
“Gorgeous girl,” he says, his voice a rumble, hair wild. Devastatingly lovely. “Gorgeous, sweet girl.”
She doesn’t think anyone’s called hersweetin a very long time.
When he says it, she wants to believe him.
As she reaches for his boxers, even more desperate to undo him, to turn him boneless and begging, his expression changes. “I just realized—I don’t have a condom.”
